


The Meaning of Death

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Rating May Change, Somewhat-Graphic Violence, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do it then. Kill me."<br/>And so he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Do it then. Kill me."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo wakes up with a start. He loosens his tightened fist until he recognizes his surroundings.

He closes both eyes and rolls over. His stomach growls, abruptly reminding him that he still has not eaten in days. He should be dead.

 

 _He should be dead_.

 

He can still feel the eyes of the crew on him, scrutinizing his every move, his every action. The message was loud and clear: he wasn't wanted. The assassin, the cyborg... his brother, Genji. Genji insists that everyone is just a bit wary, considering the current situation. It makes perfect sense, but to Hanzo, the eyes travelling down his face, the eyes that curve downwards, they all reek of detest. He knows the look well. Do they all know he was the one? Did Genji tell them? The only thing keeping him sane as he walks down the corridors is a single thought:

 

_I deserve all of this._

_I deserve all of this._

_I deserve all of this._

 

The one good thing about being accepted into the group are the countless missions and skirmishes. During the battle he can lose himself, be as reckless as he wants, as he has nothing left to lose. Staying a lone wolf walking down the streets of the city only magnify the storm that clouds his mind. "You still have a purpose in this world." If Hanzo's only purpose was remaining silent as he shoots an arrow through a Talon's head, he can believe it. He doesn't need to know the goal behind his actions. The leaders give a command, and he executes.

 

When there are no missions to be completed, or when he has not been assigned to any, he remains in his room for as long as possible. 

His plan for the day:

Stare at the wall.

 

He should probably cleanse himself, do some training, but most days, he no longer has the energy. He reasons with himself. Training would make him stronger, yes, and would keep him on his feet so that he would be assigned to more missions. Hanzo sighs. His only purpose.

Often when Hanzo is sitting here, his thoughts drift to Genji. Forgiveness. Genji has _forgiven_ him. He would laugh if he was still capable.

 

But then—

Genji's shocked face, his bright eyes dulling as they slowly close from his horror.

The blade twisting through flesh, the deep red gushing out and staining his garments. The weapon still tight in his hand.

The immediate pang of his heart as his head starts to rush with blood. He lets go.

He runs.

 

Hanzo is lying down, his breathing tight and fast. He doesn't dare open his eyes. 

 

At that moment, the door to the room opens with a bang, and a loud booming voice echoes, "Food!"

Hanzo's eyes shoot open and he freezes. Should he pretend he is asleep? Food would be a good option, if he didn't feel like vomiting. Also, how many times must he state that people should present themselves before barging in on his quarters? He quickly tries to calm down his breathing. 

 

"Hey, you alright there, pal?" the voice turning concerned as the intruder walks closer to Hanzo. Hanzo hears a clatter on the floor and footsteps that slowly reach him. He lets out a breath despite himself.

 

"Fine," Hanzo replies, turning around to face the stranger. He  _does_ recognize the American, but hasn't quite learned his name.

 

"Well that's good, I brought you some food. People have been saying they haven't seen this door open in a good while."

 

"Thank you."

The conversation cuts short at that.

The surprising entry seemed to have successfully disrupted his thoughts, Hanzo notes.

 

Hanzo's eyes slowly drift to the man's belt buckle. "BAMF," it reads. Hanzo blinks as he tries to analyze the confusing cluster of consonants.

 

"Heh, oh this?" the man peers down to where Hanzo had been outright staring, "you want to know what it means?"

 

"Not really."

 

Apparently already preparing his explanation, the man's eyes go wide for a second, and he lets out a big laugh.

"Alright then."

 

The man's eyes look around the room and back to Hanzo.

"Hey, I don't think I've ever got your name, pal."

 

Hanzo stares at him.

 

"Hanzo."

 

"Well Hanzo, it's good to finally officially meet you. People call me Jesse, Jesse McCree."

 

"Okay."

 

"Well, food's over there, I got to get back to base," the man tips the cowboy hat resting on his hair, and promptly leaves the room.

 

Hanzo is quiet for a long moment. He turns to stare at the plate of unidentified slop.

 

His stomach growls. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kind comments!! this is actually my first fic;;  
> unfortunately, i don't feel i have the motivation and/or skill to flesh out this story as to how I envisioned it.
> 
> this will probably be the last update.
> 
> i'm sorry..

 

McCree.

McCree.

McCree.

 

As odd as it was, Hanzo seemed to be seeing this McCree man just about everywhere after his little introduction.

 

In the halls.

In battle.

In the public bath.

 

Always with a cheeky grin plastered on his face, his posture slightly hunched, but not quite _slouched_. He always greets Hanzo with a tilt of his hat, a necessary part of his whole… cowboy get-up.

It was nice, Hanzo can confess. Eyes that didn’t seem to peer through him, but instead, simply observed. In fact, his whole posture leans on the edge of lazinesss, adding to his gimmick, as he slurs every other word.

 

“Hanzo. A pleasure to see ya’ out and about.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

Admitting that his short, usually not even one-word replies, does sound a bit disrespectful, Hanzo quickly changes his curt grunts into a longer “yes.” The least he could do was be polite. McCree was the only one who talked to him without fail, except Genji, of course. He hasn’t seen Genji all around that much, however.

But if a _friendship_ was what McCree wanted, Hanzo needed to strategize. How could he say “No.” in the politest way possible? He figured being straightforward and blunt would be the best approach. McCree seems to be a pretty popular man, anyways. What good would a friendship with his plain self do? He has already disappointed enough people. He has nothing to offer.

He decided it was nothing to dwell on for now. Hanzo started the journey back towards his room.

 

“McCree.”

 

McCree was crouched in his room, studying his displayed sword. Attempting to dismiss his anger, his thoughts drifted back to McCree’s intentions. How convenient.

 

“Mind if I ask you why you are in my room?” Hanzo first asks.

 

“Just checkin’ things out. Reckon’d you’d be here, so I was just waitin’.”

 

“Don’t you have better things to be doing?” 

McCree raises his eyebrows at that.

 

“No matter. I have something I must ask you anyways—” Hanzo was interrupted by the sudden surge of emotion in McCree’s voice.

 

“Why did you do it.”

 

A pause.

McCree continues to stare directly into Hanzo’s eyes.

 

Hanzo can feel the blood pooling around his body. Sweat drops start to form, leaving a slight chill on his back. His lungs will fail him any minute.

McCree knows. Of course he would.

 

“It is none of your business.”

 

“Heh, that’s new. You don’t think I care ‘bout Genji?”

 

“I did not say anything of the sort. I merely stated that the situation regarding my brother and I are strictly between us.”

 

“It’s none of my business, eh? You’re lucky Genji’s alive.”

McCree takes one step closer to Hanzo.

 

Hanzo’s hands instinctively move towards his bow.  

 

And another.

 

While doing so, his eyes never move away from Hanzo’s own.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

“I’ll ask again. Why did you do it?”

 

Hanzo doesn’t get to reply. Something distracts McCree behind Hanzo and his eyes falter. The door to his room was still open. Were people listening in on their conversation?

 

McCree closes his eyes and lets out a quick scoff.

“Of course.”

 

He pushes past Hanzo and exits without another word.

 

The door closes.

 

The plan for the day:

Stare at this wall.

 

But thoughts aren’t that easily repressed. He should have known. How could he be such a fool? A friendship? With himself? What people want from him is information. His combat skill. He is a weapon to be utilized.

 

No more of this buffoonery.

 

He lies down on the floor.

He turns, but his feet end up hitting something.

 

Hanzo looks over.

  
  
It’s McCree’s fucking cowboy hat.


End file.
